Tom stopped in mid-sentence, unable to speak, blinking. He could not believe what had just happened.
The old lady with the pork pie hat tapped twice on the buttons of the lift with her wooden stick, and extra buttons started appearing with loud popping noise until they reached level minus three hundred twenty-one. There were so many buttons that two sides of the lift’s walls were covered in them.
‘What is happening?’ Tom asked, terrified.
‘You performed magic a few minutes ago,’ replied the man in the black leather coat. ‘You’re a wizard, so we’re taking you to where you belong – the Magical Underworld.’
Tom opened his eyes, finding himself lying in bed. He blinked. The ceiling overhead was very high with dark, carved wooden beams. His heart started to beat very fast.
He was in a large white hall filled with beds covered in white sheets. A big sign hung above the hall’s door read:
SPELL DAMAGE
Improper application of incantations, curses, hexes, jinxes, unstoppable spell mumbling, faulty wand injuries.
A hospital. A peculiar hospital.
Someone cleared her throat. Sitting beside him, on a wooden armchair, smiling, was the lady with the green pork pie hat: Achillea.
‘How are you, dear?’ she said kindly, standing up. ‘Please excuse Agatache for his absence; he’s been called away on urgent matters. You fainted, but Dr Palmatum assured us it’s nothing serious. It must have been the speed of the lift. Sometimes, you know, it happens on your first journey down to the underworld.’
‘I, I thought it was a dream,’ Tom stammered, sitting up, still feeling a little dizzy.
‘Oh! A dream?’ She chuckled. ‘Look,’ she said eagerly, jerking her head at the hall.
Tom took a better look around and felt his jaw drop. He was in hospital, but it was no ordinary hospital. It looked ancient, built from large stones and its patients looked peculiar indeed: the young boy in the bed opposite him had a pig’s nose (his mother who was standing by his side seemed very angry at him), the man sitting in bed next to the boy was reading a book that was floating in the air without anyone or anything touching it, the old lady sleeping in the bed next to him, had her hair chained to the bed’s metal bars, (her hair strands moved like octopus tentacles, trying to strangle the sleeping woman).
Tom looked at Achillea, speechless.
She giggled at his expression. ‘Welcome to the Underworld, better known as the Magical Underworld. I think you need a cup of tea, dear. And a nice slice of cake! It’ll help you refocus your mind.’
A teenage boy who doesn’t know he’s a wizard…
A magical school in a hidden world beneath our own…
An ancient prophecy…
A dark wizard waiting to rise…
What could possibly go wrong?
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